


Lenugua

by InnerSpectrum



Series: Mystrade is Our Division Prompts [69]
Category: Sherlock (TV), Sherlock Holmes & Related Fandoms
Genre: Dinner, Facebook: Mystrade is our Division Fic Prompts, First Kiss, Mystrade is our Division FB Fic Prompts
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-12-08
Updated: 2019-12-08
Packaged: 2021-02-18 13:24:21
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,812
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/21711460
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/InnerSpectrum/pseuds/InnerSpectrum
Summary: Greg is invited over to dinner at Mycroft's home for first time. The problem is Greg wants something that is not on the menu.
Relationships: Mycroft Holmes & Greg Lestrade
Series: Mystrade is Our Division Prompts [69]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1090899
Comments: 4
Kudos: 61





	Lenugua

**Author's Note:**

> Written for Mystrade is our Division FB Fic Prompts | Tongue

"You are a hustler and I for one do not appreciate what you have done!" Anthea greeted Gregory Lestrade at the foyer once his trench was taken and hung. One perfectly manicured finger poked him roughly in his chest for emphasis.

"Excuse me?" Gregory laughed a little nervously not expecting the woman, nor the greeting.

He had been invited to dinner in the home of one Mycroft Holmes.

After years of only dealing with each professionally, a friendship had developed and they no longer pretended to meet because of Mycroft’s brother Sherlock. Still, all of their get-togethers had been in a restaurant, or in Mycroft’s Diogenes office. After nearly a decade of knowing the man it was the first time he had been invited to Mycroft’s home.

 _I’m in_ his _home!_

Gregory was looking around at the beautiful wainscoting and multi-pane windows when Anthea had approached.

Though he knows he has done nothing to warrant such a comment from her, he had spent the better part of the past two days not so jokingly wondering if the dinner invite from Mycroft was code for it will be his last supper - ever. Mycroft’s oh so formal head-of-staff, Carlin, greeting him at the door to take his trench was one thing; Anthea's greeting was not helping his imagination.

"Mr. Holmes is rather excellent at billiards. How, tell me _how_ , did you con him?" Anthea asked with a cheeky smirk.

Greg grinned then in understanding.

During dinner a week ago the two overheard a man at another table mentioned a nearby bar that had excellent tables. Mycroft gave a rare smile and tried to remember the last time played. The two wound up going to the bar and playing a few rounds.

"Mr. Holmes is a posh gentleman who learned to play billiards. I'm a scrapper from East End who learned to shoot pool." Greg laughed, “It’s not my fault your oh so in-depth profile on me missed that part of my wayward youth. The look on his face when I stopped messing with him and really played was priceless!”

“I know! I hacked the bar's security cameras and saw it! It’s so rare to see him genuinely surprised. Thank you for that!” Anthea grinned with obvious glee, “He’s in the kitchen. Go through the living room, past the music room and to your right.”

She turned to the man who held out her coat and put it on, “Thank you, Carlin. Mr. Holmes said to inform you that you are free for the rest of the evening once you lock up behind me.”

“Thank you, Ms. Anthea.” The man gave a short nod that looked more like a bow of his head. “Have a good evening.”

“I’m off duty and heading for home; enjoy the evening, Greg.” She smiled as she buttoned her coat. Her eyes travelled his body, “And the way you leaned over to sink that fifteen? Nice!”

“Good night, Anthea.” He laughed as she walked past him. She rarely addressed him by his formal first name. He was reasonably sure she had never called him by the diminutive before.

_Wow, she really is off duty._

“Mr. Lestrade?” Carlin raised a brow after he closed the door behind Anthea and found Greg still standing in the foyer. 

“Sorry, I’m good. I can find it thank you, enjoy your evening.”

Gregory made his way through the beautifully appointed living room. It was just like the man, formal, classic and elegant.

_And beautiful._

Gregory had taken two steps after that thought and mentally end stopped.

_Oh god, where did that come from?_

But he knew where. He has known for a long while that he had fallen in love with the man. It was a love he kept to himself. Mycroft Holmes was understated bespoke elegance in three piece suits, ties, and pocket watches on a tall, nicely fit frame. Gregory Lestrade was pret-a-porter on sale that looked decent on his not as solid as it used to be, but still athletic enough frame to hold its own with MET's football league. He was proud of what he made of himself, but Gregory Lestrade knew what side of the tracks he came from. Yes, he brought himself up by his bootstraps and made something of himself becoming a well-respected detective inspector with New Scotland Yard. He was not exactly the rough around the edges young man he had been in his youth. Still, Gregory’s side of the tracks did not produce a man of means like Mycroft Holmes. He knew Mycroft Holmes did not just come from the right side of the tracks – he grew up to own them.

_There is no way such a smooth man could ever be interested in a piece of semi-rough like me._

Greg admired the white grand piano he glimpsed as he passed the music room when the scent of onion, garlic, and bay leaf made its way to him. His stomach made a small sound in reminder that it had been a busy day at NSY and he had skipped lunch.

Having seen the old fashioned elegance of the living room and hall, and the glimpse of the music room he imagined a classic kitchen with modern touches. He expected a cook at the hob as Mycroft supervised because of course he would inspect everything.

The industrial grey hued kitchen was surprising considering the warmth of the rooms he saw, but he certainly imagined the gleaming state of the art stove with steaming pots.

What he did not imagine was to find Mycroft Holmes himself in rolled-up shirt sleeves. Though he still wore his waistcoat, his tie was gone and the first couple of buttons of his shirt were opened. With a shock Greg realized this is the most casual he had ever seen the man in all of the years he has known him.

_And the most skin!_

He had guessed the man was hirsute, but seeing the evidence of light ginger hair peeking over the undershirt made his mouth water more than the scent of the meal being prepared had.

_And oh God he’s wearing an apron!_

“Good evening, Holmes.” Gregory leaned against the door frame and watched the movement of Mycroft’s bare forearms as he transferred sliced meat from a cutting board to a skillet.

“You’re in my home, watching me cook. I am sure you can find your way to address me with less formality. Goodness knows you have used my first name with stunning efficiency when we’re in private and you’re angry with me. Try it now and see how it rolls of your tongue, _Gregory_.” Mycroft’s voice was teasing and smooth as it said his name. Like Anthea, Mycroft rarely addressed him as anything other than _Detective Inspector_ when working, Inspector when in public and _Lestrade_ on rare occasions when the conversations were more personal. Hearing Mycroft address him by just his first name in such a tone was near illicit in its intimacy.

 _Is he? Is he_ flirting? _With me? No!_

“You run… big things… from the minor office you occupy with the government. You’re ridiculously brilliant, play a mean game of snooker and you cook. What can’t you do, _Mycroft_?” Greg teased.

“Apparently spot a pool hustler on sight.” Mycroft groused, but Greg could tell he was not upset, “It has been ages since I was had so. Anthea certainly enjoyed…it. ”

The way Mycroft paused; Greg knew there was something more.

“Yeah, she told me she hacked their video and liked the way I sank that fifteen ball.”

Was he not watching Mycroft’s hands he might have missed that slight slip that could sliced more than the shallots on the counter before they continued. Gregory's mind went back to that shot.

Mycroft had stood behind him watching as he was bent over along the rail and lined up his shot. It was the shot where he had revealed himself to be a much better player than he pretended. Enjoying himself, Greg had looked at Mycroft over his shoulder and winked. Only now in reminiscing does he remember that Mycroft had looked a little flushed.

_So concentrated on the shot I did not realize my arse was on full display from that angle. If she saw it, Mycroft certainly had. He looked flushed because he was checking out my arse!_

“Yes, well that certainly was one for the records.” Mycroft admitted.

Greg looked up in time to as Mycroft caught the tip of his tongue between his teeth as he stirred.

_Oh what I wouldn’t give to do that!_

In an attempt to distract himself from the thoughts that then ran amok in his mind he looked down only to notice Mycroft’s open collar again.

“You’re a ginger, I thought so, but I wasn’t sure. I like it… Oh!” Gregory cringed as the unexpected words left his mouth, “Oh, sorry… I… sorry!”

Mycroft looked up and grinned at the various shades of red Gregory knew his face had turned.

“Yes, I am. I started rinsing my hair on top a darker color for work. It was easier to garner the necessary respect if one were not so focused on the bright red shade I am naturally. While it is less of an issue now at my level, it is more habit than anything else is these days. And no apology needed, Gregory. Thank you.” Mycroft quickly transferred the sliced shallots to a skillet on the hob behind him and stirred, but Greg could see how his ears pinked.

_He’s blushing! Mycroft Holmes is blushing!_

“Um… Is there anything I can assist with, Mycroft?” Greg finally spoke the words he meant to say.

“Dinner is almost ready to be plated. The dining room is through there…”

“Is it as formal and staid as the rest of what I saw?” Gregory interrupted before he could stop himself. He was afraid if they dined in a formal room Mycroft might revert to a more formal manners and he was liking this casual Mycroft far too much to give him up so soon.

“…or we can eat in here at the breakfast nook, I have the plates here, but if you could be so kind as to set the rest of the table? Dishes are in the cupboard two doors left of the sink. Cutlery and napkins are in the drawers below it.” Mycroft continued as though Greg had not spoken, but Greg understood he switched plans just for him.

“Thank you.” Greg grinned appreciatively as he went to wash his hands at the sink. “I see you sautéing beef in the pan, what’s for dinner? I know you; it’s not mere beef, veggies and a side. Gimme the fancy name, Mycroft.”

“It’s what you asked for…” Mycroft answered as he began to plate the food. “Lenugua sautéed in a mushroom sauce, served with mixed buttered vegetables and a creamy risotto.”

Greg looked over at him confused. “I asked for what? When?”

Mycroft studied him a moment. After so many years, Gregory had learned to translate the minute movements of Mycroft’s body especially his face. The average person would have missed most of his tells but Greg caught them.

The slight twitch of the left side of his lips: confusion

The near infinitesimal furrow of his brow: thinking

The short lifting of his head: embarrassment

The slight downturn of the right side of his lips: disappointment

The quirk of his left brow: resolution

It was all done in a matter of seconds, a maximum of seven if Greg had counted, before it settled into the blank unreadable expression that is Mycroft’s resting face – especially when he is hiding something from the world.

It was those last three expressions that worried Gregory as Mycroft began to speak.

“When I invited you here to dinner it was a rare moment of spontaneity on my part. I thought it would be different to have conversation that was not in a restaurant and not in the official air of our offices. Once I gave the invite I decided I would cook. I have not hosted a guest, let alone a friend, in such a long time and as you had never been here before it was an excellent opportunity to show off. But what to cook? One moment, please.” Mycroft left the plates on the counter and went into the dining room. He came back a moment later with a bottle of red wine and two glasses. “Forgive my manners. As I said it has been a long time since I hosted in my own home. Would you like?”

Greg had finished setting the table in the nook. He needed something for his hands to do and accepted a glass. “I get all of that, but what made you prepare…legumes? No, that beans…”

“Lenugua,” Mycroft gently corrected.

“Yes, sorry. Why lenugua?”

“I wanted to surprise you and make something we don’t normally order in a restaurant. I apparently made the mistake of consulting the World’s Only Consulting Detective in that regard.” Mycroft sighed as he poured a glass for himself. “He said that he overheard you saying to John that it has been a while since you had good lenugua and where you wanted it from the most was not available to you.”

Gregory choked on his wine.

He choked so hard that a couple of drops dribbled out.

Mycroft stared at him in concern, which only made the situation worse.

Greg put his glass down and grabbed a serviette to wipe the dribble away as he tried not to choke on what remained.

Mycroft realized what was happening and his concern changed to outright confusion as Gregory wiped at his tearing eyes and pointed at his mouth unable to swallow.

It took a solid minute to pull himself together enough to swallow the wine in his mouth. Once he had, he burst into unhinged laughter. He held up his hand again silently asking for a moment as he checked something on his mobile. Finding the answer he looked at Mycroft’s face and burst into laughter again.

“Now that asphyxiation is no longer a concern, if any minute you would care elucidate on the humor in this which I am clearly missing it would be most gratifying, Detective Lestrade.” Mycroft’s concern, then confusion had morphed into annoyance.

“I’m sorry! I’m sorry!” Gregory grinned. “One question: who said the word _lenugua_?”

“Sherlock did. His exact words were _I heard Lestrade tell John something about not having had lenugua in a while because the place he wants it from is not open_.” Mycroft’s impersonation of his younger brother was dead on as he plated the food. “I take it he overheard incorrectly?”

“No, he heard correctly, Mr. Holmes. It’s his translation that I suspect is purposely at fault.” Gregory walked over to stand in front of Mycroft, “I never said the word _lenugua_. I used the more colloquial term.”

Gregory watched Mycroft’s face as it came to him. “Oh! You told John you wanted _tongue_. God damn him! He knows!”

“He knows? Sherlock knows? Knows what?” it was Greg’s turn to look confused.

Mycroft took a step closer to Greg, his grey eyes suddenly intense as they looked into his. “I have but two questions, Lestrade. Question 1: did you ever tell John the name of the place from which you wanted this tongue?”

“God no…” Greg shook his head, he most certainly had not said whose tongue he wanted. 

_My God, he knows! He knows I have feelings for him._

Greg stared into Mycroft's cool eyes nervously, “And your second question?”

Mycroft put the serving utensils down and took a step closer to Greg. “The place that you felt was not available to you – are you currently near?" 

Something in the air crackled. 

"Because if you are," Mycroft continued, "I can assure you that it has been available for quite some time.” 

Gregory’s breath caught as the enormity of Mycroft’s words hit him.

“Apparently my brother has figured out my feelings and this...” Mycroft gestured to the food, “…was his joke against me, knowing I would take his words literally, all the while wishing I could take something else literal.”

Gregory slowly smiled as he stepped closer to Mycroft.

“Then I say let us make your literal wishes come true and the joke will be on him when I rave about your lenugua.”

“But you haven’t tasted my…”

Gregory cut him off with a quick kiss.

“Oh…” Mycroft breathed.

Mycroft pulled Gregory into his arms and returned it with a deeper kiss.

Gregory caught the tip of Mycroft’s tongue between his teeth and flicked his tongue across it.

_Oh indeed!_

“I have tasted it now…and it’s delicious.”

Carlin entered the kitchen early the next morning to discover two untouched plates of lenugua still on the counter.

**Author's Note:**

> And for those who have not figured it out: Lenugua is beef tongue, there are many delicious recipes out there for tongue.


End file.
